


Covered

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bucky is a little shit and we love him, F/M, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reader-Insert, Sam Wilson Cameo, Shower Sex, Smut, Swearing, Unsanitary kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21534289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: Bucky stumbles into the infirmary covered in blood. No, literally.Covered in blood.Dripping. Oozing. Oh, and with two gunshots to boot.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 78





	Covered

**Author's Note:**

> Written from these two dialogue prompts: “I love the way you taste” + “Stop trying to kiss me while I’m trying to yell at you!” Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

“Jesus Christ, Bucky, stop moaning and groaning. We’re literally almost there.”

Sam’s voice is so laden with aggravation you can practically feel him rolling his eyes. Bucky’s far from an ideal patient, and being the medic on call… Well, it’s not like you’ve never administered anything for him before, and you’ve certainly got a handle on how to deal with him, but still. If Sam’s bitching at him before you even start your suturing, it’s usually not the best sign.

By the time the door swings open, you’re ready. Hands washed, instruments all set, a fresh hospital gown waiting just in case. Part of you fleetingly hopes it’ll require the gown. They _ do _ tend to gape in the back.

You have a settled smile on, your usual nurse expression, for exactly one and a half seconds.

Then you take it _ allllll _ in.

Sam, out of uniform, blood dark and shiny on his cheeks. Uninjured, from what you can see, but thoroughly disgusted—as he should be—by the man leaning on his arm.

Because Bucky god-damn Barnes is totally, thoroughly _ covered _ with blood. His hair is stringy and matted. Clots of half-dried blood are caught in his scruff, on his clothes. His whole uniform is drenched—his boots are squelching on the floor. You can’t even tell if he’s injured—except he must be, because why else would Sam have dragged him here and not straight to the gym showers for a proper hose-down?

“What the fuck happened to you, Bucky?” you blurt.

Bucky grins, his teeth blindingly white in his bloodstained face. There’s a trickle of blood between his two front teeth.

“Bust up a weird-ass cult,” he says cheerfully. He drops Sam’s arm and limps forward towards you; you scurry back, hands up and expression all horror. Bucky pauses, blinks, and stops. “They had the gall to shoot me in the fuckin’ leg. _ Twice_. Almost the same spot, too.”

You study his outstretched leg, but it’s impossible to tell where he’s been shot.

“Eugh,” you mutter. You slide your eyes to Sam with a rueful grimace. “You can go clean up, Cap. You don’t need to witness what comes next.”

Sam snorts. “Have fun, dude.”

Bucky turns—probably to stick his tongue out at Sam—and Sam takes off, laughing.

The second the door swings shut behind him, Bucky hobbles your way, that cheeky grin back on his face as he reaches for you. But you hold up a solid hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“No way, mister. You might be delighted to run around covered in blood, but I believe in _ sanitary _ working conditions. Go take a shower. How the hell did you even get this shit all over you?” You gesture at the bloody footprints on the floor; no doubt he left a train all through the hallway from the hangar too. He just chuckles as he heads towards the medical shower, slowly working his uniform off, one bloody item at a time. One boot clunks on the floor, then the other. “Look at what you’ve done to my squeaky-clean tiles, for goodness’ sake!”

“I jumped in a vat of it,” Bucky says.

You turn to face him, gaping. You nearly swallow your tongue. How did he take so much off so _ fast? _ He’s shirtless, with bloody streaks across his sculpted chest. The contrast between the pale skin there and his literally blood-red face is half hilarious, half horrifying. Then he wiggles his pants off, and his hiss of discomfort has you stepping forward to assist, your reservations gone in the face of his pain. Bucky catches your hand to steady himself, the blood on his hand a nauseating mix of slick and sticky.

Your brain finally catches up with what he’d said.

“You jumped in a vat of blood?! What the hell were you thinking? Do you know the kind of _ germs—_”

Bucky tugs you closer, wipes his face with his pants, and plants a tangy kiss on your lips. You shove him back, spitting the taste away as he straight-up giggles at your expression.

“Stop trying to kiss me while I’m trying to yell at you!” you snap, but your disgust isn’t quite as powerful as your affection, and in a few more seconds you’re giggling too. Sure, it’s absolutely _ disgusting_, but it’s Bucky. You’ve dealt with worse.

“Guess now you’ll have to join me in the shower,” Bucky says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Guess so,” you agree. Then you look him over and wince. “Maybe after you clean yourself off, huh? And what about those bullets in your leg? I gotta get those out.”

“I’ve still got—” Bucky glances to the ceiling, moves his mouth silently— “thirty-nine minutes before those holes start to actually close up.”

You cross your arms. Whoops—that’s blood on your scrubs now.

“What about the blood withdrawal?”

Bucky just looks at you with his eyebrows raised as he turns on the shower and steps in. Immediately, the water runs red.

You roll your eyes. “Okay, okay…”

Bucky scrubs himself with his hands, his eyes closed and water streaming in clear rivulets down his bloody body. After a minute, you can make out the bullet holes. God, if that were you, you’d be howling from the pain, but he only grimaces every so often. Your heart twists, and slowly, quietly, you shimmy out of your scrubs and toe off your slip-resistant shoes. You wriggle out of your underwear and drop it on the rest.

“Here,” you murmur. You slip in beside Bucky, the water hot on your skin, and wrap an arm around his waist. “Let me help.”

The moment he leans into you, you sigh in unison. It’s been a while since you’ve showered together, and holding him, supporting him—even if he is still a little bloodstained—is like pulling on the comfiest sweater. You nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder, not quite ready to bury your face in his neck until he pulls out the soap.

“Hey Bucky?”

“Mm?”

“Why did you jump in a vat of blood?”

“I’d just found ‘em right before someone came through, so I hopped in one til they passed.”

You shake your head. “Yeesh. I’m so glad I don’t have your job.”

“Me too,” Bucky says. He grabs the bar of soap and starts to rub himself raw and red, the right kind of red, his own skin flushed kind of red. “I like coming back to you all clean and pretty.”

“To get me dirty, no doubt,” you tease.

“Yep.” Bucky pops the _ p _ and nudges you aside so he can finish washing himself. He snags your bloody hand once he’s done and scrubs it clean, and then he grabs your hips and sinks to his knees in front of you, centering you under the spray of water. Blood rushes in your ears, sudden want pooling in your belly, between your legs. He looks up at you, eyes sparkling. “Just like _ this_.”

He latches his mouth between your legs, and your knees half-buckle from the first clever swipe of his tongue. But he holds you up, his hands kneading your bum as he eats you up like he’s been starved. You wind your fingers in his hair, eyes closed, head tipped back, lip quivering under his onslaught. Every nibble, every lick, every thrust of his tongue has you reeling until you’re barely holding yourself up.

Bucky doesn’t come up for breath for what feels like an _ eternity_. When he does, you stare down at him, panting, cheeks hotter than the water and desire curling your toes.

“God, I love the way you taste,” he groans. “So fuckin’ sexy.”

You stroke his hairline, breathless and smiling and warm and happy despite the countdown ticking in the back of your brain. “Well, eat up. We’ve got less than half an hour, and your turn’s next.”


End file.
